


Who's in Control

by oREDACTEDo



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: A Story In Which Mirage is A Very Needy Friend, Action, But a Perfect Friend Nonetheless, Character Development, Childhood Friends, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Feels, High Stakes, Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rich Lifestyle, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-29 03:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18217358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oREDACTEDo/pseuds/oREDACTEDo
Summary: After serving as a sponsorship agent for the now popular Mirage, Gladys Crowley spent the next three years denying request after request from countless potential fighters that needed her expertise to Legend-status stardom. It wasn't until a mysterious client's approach that she decides to get back into the swing of things. Not understanding the severity of this new partnership, Crowley must now strive to remain one step ahead of this dangerous new Legend, all the while maintain her longtime friendship with Elliott Witt. Sometimes, people go against their own judgement to prove something to themselves.Gladys supposes she's no different.





	1. End of Hiatus

**Author's Note:**

> Hi fam, I'm back from hiatus. These are big chapters. You have been warned.

1

 

She was never a fan of the neon lights. A woman like her—born and raised in a not so gentle town on the distant Solace—it only ever reminded her of home. Never did she imagine finding herself in yet another bar with a whisky sour in one hand and a piece of moist, crumpled paper in the other. It was raining outside, though, and it was colder and heavier than where she was born. People reckoned she wasn’t from around these parts, simply because of her nice warm complexion.

“Another one?” asked the bartender. It was a thinner man. Not brawly like the rest who commuted in the bar every night. Raising her hand, she shook her head no and continued with what she was doing.

_Thinking_ , and hard too.

The com hidden within the crevice of her ear made a soft hum. An incoming call, and surprisingly enough when she answered the voice was crisp and clear. With how thick the atmosphere was, she wasn’t expecting to get any transmissions here. A pleasant surprise.

_“Crowley?”_ a voice said.

“As always.”

There was always a charm when she spoke mixing with a bit of a hardened tone. This woman always was in a state of total concentration. Never to stop thinking—always to keep moving with purpose.

_“Did you get the note from the tender?”_ he asked, and she only hums while taking a sip of her bitter waters.

“Of course. An email, I presume. No address?”

_“To a not-so-safe place, no. This particular client is getting rather popular in the games. Everyone loves Mirage’s farce, but some like it serious. I trust you to be the best in handling a professional client such as this.”_

“Professional or peculiar?” she muses. Her eyes glazed through the dusty air to see a news bulletin siting at the edge of the bar. It was cracked from damage, the picture flickering, but it managed to hold together.

**_THE NEXT GREATEST FIGHER IN THE RING?_ **

“Something tells me this new client of yours is both. It sounds too exhausting to trouble myself with,” she couldn’t help but say bitterly. Never was she a fan of surprises. The man avoids the statement, and she knew why. Only a mere mention of this next client must have scared many others who were given the opportunity before her.

_“Fame comes at a price, Crowley. I expect that you know this. Sometimes it’s best to find things out when the time comes.”_

“I don’t care about fame. A pretty penny is one thing. Getting my face all over the Outlands is a dirty coin that I don’t care for,” she finishes her drink in one go and lets out a light hiss. “What I do is like gambling, Director. Out of twelve of my previous clients, only one of them is still around, and sure enough he’s the star of the show. They all had potential—each and every one—but in the end of the day it’s a mixture of talent and luck. Since I can only control one over the other, I’d hope you’d understand that I’m only willing to put my time on _polished_ contestants.”

_“Applicants are afraid of you, Crowley. You grew up with Mr. Witt, did you not? This insistence you have to refuse new clients comes off as biased favoritism. That’s not a good look for us. Besides, you’d know I’d only ever give you the best. Trust my judgement, and then after you meet the client you can decide for yourself. Promising fighters means you get a bigger paycheck. That being said, then you should be satisfied with who you were previously managing. So, tell me, why remain in the field if you won’t work with anyone else?”_ Cutting off communications, she takes her leave back out into the murky atmosphere and breaths. Downtown air, with flashing neon signs and clashing music around every dark corner.

The following week she had broken the ice through messages. The stranger refused to physically meet, as well as accept a call, so text was the closest she had. It was expected, given they had _written_ their email address on a piece of paper. Others would view it was primitive, but over time she’d come to realize that this person wasn’t stupid. They were being cautious.

No surprise there. This was the Outlands, after all, and people used the games to settle differences. Whether it be money, or loved ones, or something as little as opposing views. The games settled _everything._

Perhaps they weren’t sure if they’d like her as a manager anyways? Suppose they told her everything about them, and then it just didn’t work out? That was their identity on the line. People like her worked with a code of conduct, however, and confidentiality was key when it was demanded in the contract.

One that her potential client certainly would request.

But given they refused to take their chances, she learned something about them. Their meticulousness. Their choice of wording in every single text they responded with. It was a pleasant surprise. During the end of the weekday, while reclining on her sofa with a steaming cup of morning brew, she noticed a new message. To her surprise, it was from the mysterious stranger. They only ever messaged her at 8PM every single night. So, why the change?

_“You’ve peaked my interest, Miss Crowley. Below is the address to one of my temporary work stations. Please arrive between the times of 19:00-20:00 this coming Saturday. If you fail to do so, I will assume that you hold no in interest aiding my campaign and terminate contact. I hope to see you.”_

How tragic, she had a date around that time with a friend. The way the email presented itself too. Crowley wasn’t a fan of aggressive natured people. Most of her previous clients were easy going with good minds and intentions. Yet, when she was about to send a response regarding her inability to attend—and her disinterest in working with the mystery person all together—she pauses.

Now, Crowley was a woman who trusted her gut. The times she didn’t always ended in failure. Something about this time was drastic though. Her gut told her to give the visit a go, but her mind told her how stupid it all seemed. Suspicion oozed from the message, and that was just one of a dozen feelings she got from it. Besides, Elliott wouldn’t be happy to hear her cancel on him. She never, ever, cancels on Elliott.

Three days roll by. There was no further exchange between the two after the last email. The sad voice of her dear friend groaned a song of betrayal into her ears as she got dressed. _You’ve never canceled on me before,_ he said. _I would have taken you for porkchops. You know how much I love porkchops._ She herself wasn’t the meat-eating type but having a hot plate of pork seemed far better than standing in the cold rain in front of a strange building. It was a large compound with many substations, each owned by various people, organizations, and businesses. Unit B7 was the one she was instructed to go to. Unlike many of the others, this one didn’t have a loading bay. The number was in red, painted evenly against the cement wall. Weathering had chipped some of the edges off, but these places weren’t necessarily about appearance. The woman, already growing chilly from the icy weather, presses on the call button. To her left she could see a band of workers pushing a hovering lift to a separate building. Whatever it was, it was tarped, but it was the workers themselves that caught her attention. They stared so intently, because how often did a woman in a burgundy coat come down by the industrial side of town like this?

Maybe she should have worn something less colorful, like black or grey? Maybe then she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb? Grumbling at her situation, she stares at the big metal doors in desperate wait. A quick glance at her watch, and she sees that she is right on time.

_“Identify yourself,”_ a gritty voice said from the intercom. It was a man, and the voice was vaguely familiar.

_Okay, so he’s a bit extensive in the paranoia department. Good to know,_ she thought, her hand tapping at her chest a little anxiously. “Gladys Crowley. I’m a manager for the Apex games.”

Not even a second later and the front doors slide away, flushing her body with frigid air. Fumbling her hands in her pockets, she felt a tinge of discomfort tugging at her heart. _Nonsense_ , she told herself, _this was business_. Why be nervous? Every first meeting was registered with the directors, and that included this current location. Competitors were dangerous, after all, and anything violent done outside of the games were punishable.

That’s why records of all their conversations were constantly kept.

The hallway was wider than she expected. Brightly lit, she almost felt blinded by the LEDs that lined the ceiling. The interior was clean and white; a stark contrast to the building outside. A few offices were passed, all of which seemed locked and vacant. The first open door she comes across looked like a simple office. Many books and tablets with charts littered the desk, but what stood out most was the man standing in the corner facing away from her. He was hunched over yet another tablet, many colors flashing across it on constant replay. She barely noticed the formations of what looked like molecules combining, bursting, in what looked like a simulation of some sorts. Stopping just outside the doorway, she places three clear knocks on the frame. His head shifts just barely to glance towards her direction.

“You came right on the dot. Your professionality is rare and inspiriting.”

“I’m a woman who values first impressions,” she explained nonchalantly. Once he turns, she felt that ever coolness in her falter slightly. That man, she knew she noticed the voice. Greying hair was brushed back to expose a prominent widows peak. His jaw was lined with a matching beard, and his brows were arched sharply as he glanced down at her in such a demeaning sort of way.

It’s Caustic, currently in the top ten list of competitors registered for the Apex games, and his popularity was skyrocketing faster than an old titan’s space bound rocket. Now she understood why so many managers said no to such a wonderous opportunity. An elusive man such as him, who killed the most cruelly in the battlefield, was surely difficult to work with. Crowley found herself smiling at him.

_Of course, a Legend. I doubt this man needs my help, or maybe I’m not seeing something?_

“I must say, you were the last person I expected to be requesting sponsorship aid.”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, and there was a threatening tone in his curious voice. She shook her head, regardless.

“No. I, too, admire professionalism. You’ve proven yourself plenty of times as a Legend that you have a sense of business.”

The look on his face transitions to something different. He looks at her as if she were peculiar. Crowley raises a brow.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Odd, I presumed you to be more… vivacious,” he said. The woman hums.

“Well, will the way I am now be a problem to you?”

“Absolutely not. I prefer it,” he reassures before crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve never done anything like this before, Miss Crowley. If you could do the honors and walk me through this… process,” there was a smoothness in his voice. The woman simply shrugs.

“Well, you could start by letting me get to know you. As a manager my job is to represent you to the public to the best of my abilities. To _sell_ you, per say. I can only do that if I know your best interests, mister…”

“Caustic,” he said firmly.

Slowly she nods, getting the picture quickly. As she repeats the label, she could see he was pleased with her willingness to submit to such a bizarre request. Walking passed her to turn the corner he coaxes for her to follow with the wave of his hand. They walked besides each other as they spoke.

“How much are you willing to tell me about yourself?” she inquires.

“Minimal,” he says dryly, and it makes her hum in thought. It wasn’t often she’d been given someone so lucrative as a client. People often desired that stardom that came with being a popular Legend.

“I suppose your past should be kept from the crowds as well?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter. It’s what I’m aiming for that does.”

“And that would be?” she watches as drags a finger along one of the many cold tables.

“Currency to fund my research.”

He didn’t have enough already? The man had already won a handful of games, and one could imagine how much they make. Elliott, for starters, became a millionaire shortly after his campaign even began to start. Then again, she found herself in a small laboratory. Presumably he had multiple, though. The air was more frigid compared to the rest of the complex. On the tables, glass tubes all lined up and corked were filled with still siting liquid. Most of them were yellows and greens in color.  A symphony of bile-shaded serums that bubbled subtly as pressure grew. Crowley wondered if they’d burst from the buildup over time. Hopefully she wouldn’t be there if that happened. She could only imagine what it was he brewed in here.

“Is this the infamous Noxious Gas?” she asked. Though she already knew the answer. She was well versed in many of the Legends. Caustic was no different. Yet, he still managed to keep under the radar. A researcher like Crowley had many means of finding the information she so desired. She supposed that if she tried hard enough, this man would be displayed before her like a corpse on an autopsy bed. If anyone should be tricky, it should have been Bloodhound.

“Correct. The most lethal substance even beyond the Frontier. I devised it all through extensive trials and errors. It’s corrosive… implacable.”

“And _caustic_?” she hums. The man glances at her, his lips slowly pulling into a smirk and…

… and it made her skin crawl. Something dangerous was emanating off him. Like a cloud of miasma constantly spewed from every pore on his body. This man surely wasn’t a dime a dozen. He was like a force of a nature extremely different to what she was used to. Just then she noticed how broad his shoulders were, and how big his arms appeared beneath the dress shirt he was sporting. It came to her; a memory of when she was watching an Apex match streaming live for the worlds to see. Though it wasn’t his debut, it was the first time she’d ever seen this man perform. And he was bludgeoning another contester to death. Aside from his great mind, he was also full of raw power. A shiver went up her back, and it wasn’t from the cold. Surely, he could kill her with minimal effort, and he had the wits of hiding her body with the upmost efficiency. With fluid like grace she was able to appear confident and—like always—professional, and not an ounce of anxiousness was present in her features. After all, she was used to dealing with dangerous people.

“Do you mind showing me more?” she asks, to which his demeanor becomes much darker than previously. With a sharp snap of his neck, Caustic glares down at her with the darkest of eyes.

“My research is my life. Don’t expect me to expose every finite detail to you.”

Really this was an extremely cautious man. Something incredibly hard to work with. With how rigid he’d grown, she figured having someone in here with him was already out of his comfort zone. She commended him for going this far, but admittedly it wasn’t far enough for her. Crowley musters up the courage to make a suggestion. “May I be frank?”

There was critical look on his face, but he didn’t say anything. Crowley took that as a yes. With her arms pressed tight against her body he struggled to keep herself from shivering. “Developing a sponsorship is difficult without having the right devices to work with. Given your refusal to disclose anything, you could well imagine that there isn’t much that the viewers would want to grasp.”

“You misunderstand my intentions, Miss Crowley. I could care less for something so trivial.”

She chuckles, “Unfortunately, Mr. Caustic, it’s having a following that will earn you a sponsorship in the first place. Campaigns are only ever raised if you attract enough attention. In the Apex games, you could imagine that being a champion also means being a star. Take a woman like Ajay Chey, who earns a drastic amount of support from humanitarian organizations because of her cause. With her bright personality all she needs is to bat her lashes.”

The man makes a fist, his knuckles cracking. “They needn’t know my cause. I’ve made this clear with your director, and with countless others prior to you. I don’t retract my former desires.”

“Then let’s meet in the middle. My point is she’s open about it. Perhaps present it in a way that’s more appealing to viewers. Such as promoting your research for… for the progression of the scientific industry.”

Really, she was pulling ideas out of her head. That’s why she did what she did. All the woman needed was to be the middleman. That would prove to be hard without something to work with. There was a heaviness in the air. Caustic fell silent in thought. More than likely he didn’t like the idea of having to come to anyone else’s terms but his own. All she asks was he meets her in the middle. To some, that was too much. Curling her toes, the woman awaits anxiously for his response. Right now, she could have been finishing up dinner and then forcing Elliott out of her abode. Clearly, she wasn’t enjoying her time here. It was something about this man that made her want to hightail out of there. A distrust that lingered ever since she had gotten first contact with him.

“I need to think deeper on this matter.”

“That doesn’t bode well with me. I’m a quick business sort of person. I trust my gut. Something I’ve always lived by: if there’s reluctance, then it wasn’t meant to be.” With arched brows he glances down at her shorter form. “Do you not expect me to adapt to your meager conditions? I was hoping for someone a little more analytical. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected better from a critical, high-rate agent.”

That took her back. Had she been rude and didn’t notice? Either way, the angry look on his face was clear as day. There was a particular artery that quaked beneath his skin, thrumming with the hidden beat of his heart. Crowley found herself staring straight at it. Tongue caught in her throat, she hums and takes a deep breath.

The client is mad. What does one do when they’re made?

“You’re right. I am being harsh, aren’t I? What if I told you that your conditions are completely acceptable and that I’m more than willing to work with them?”

Apologize and make it worth their while. Sure enough, there was a curious glint in his eye that didn’t go unnoticed by her. Legends could see danger a mile away. She, however, could always spot the smallest particles of opportunity. His arms cross once again over his chest, the muscles flexing independently. The way his biceps stretched the shirt was admittedly a scary sight. They looked about as big as her thighs. Tilting his head now, Caustic hums curiously. Hooked—now to reel him in somehow. But this was a difficult fish.

“I’d say that your change of heart was suspicious. I find this hard to believe after your failed attempt to coax me.”

“Fine, I admit I wanted my job to be easier, but I see now that this just isn’t that sort of case. Allow me to provide to you the upmost best service that an Apex representative can provide. As your manager, my job is to build and support your financial campaign in whatever way you most please. Granted, I predict it to be a slow incline, but your mysteriousness is something that I could easily work with. People find tall, dark, and obscure fascinating.”

The flat of his tongue ran along his teeth, which were sharper looking than she noticed prior. With big hands he pets his beard and stares with scrutinizing eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” But the smile on her face told him otherwise. A low rumble in his chest transforms into a laugh. It was deep and thick; borderline sinister, but just by hair to where anyone who didn’t know who he was would think it was just all in their head. Crowley considered the possibility that she had something in her teeth. Why else would the man being enjoying her company this much? Especially after displeasing him in such a rude manner. Being abrasive wasn’t really her character, but she did tend to be a smartass. Fingers ran through his hair as he takes a breather, that glint in his eyes stirring up her gut to the point where she was almost nauseous. Intimidation was his forte.

“Perhaps calling you critical was unwise of me.”


	2. A Display of Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage is worried that his friend made a grave mistake, but Gladys doesn't seem to share his concerns. Meanwhile, Caustic takes the opportunity to show her what he's truly capable of in the battlefield.

“So, I heard you’re back on the ropes. It’s about time you get off that lovely behind of yours.”

The more he talked, the less sweet the drink he’d bought for her began to taste. But Elliott felt apologetic after his little episode the other day. Buying her gifts were his way of making amends, not that he needed to though. He was always a little on the dramatic side ever since they were children. Winking teasingly, he leans back against his metal chair with his arms thrown behind his head. The busy restaurant wasn’t her favorable place, but anywhere else would lead to the famous Mirage being overwhelmed by crowds of people. Privacy was a sacrifice he gladly gave away to be where he was now. Crowley didn’t mind making her own sacrifices to be with him as well.

As much as she tried keeping that stern look of hers, she couldn’t fight the small smile that slipped through her guard. Elliott snaps his fingers and snickers at her. “Gotcha! But no, seriously, I’m confused. I thought you were tired of it all?”

“Not as much as I was tired of you,” she said, but Elliott shook his head.

“No, no, no. We all know _I_ was the one that was tired of _you_. Women may be my forte but I’m not perfect, ya know?”

Crowley shrugs before placing her dessert drink onto the table. Elliott was picking at his meal. A folded omelet stuffed with local greens and some foreign herbs that he couldn’t begin to pronounce remained half eaten. More than likely she was going to take it home for him. Taking a deep breath, she stares at her hands. “I guess I grew tired of being weak.” That got Elliott’s attention real fast. Nearly dropping his fork, he found himself leaning against the table now.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you? You being worried about me doesn’t make you weak. It’s practically a proven fact: managing your best friend who so happens to be the greatest Legend that’s ever lived in a game of life or death doesn’t necessarily come off as an _easy_ job,” Elliott insists, and it was the most serious she’d seen him in a while. It was nice seeing Elliott—real Elliott. Not that the buffoon on the screen wasn’t really him either. Being sincere wasn’t a part of the act though, and she was one of the special few that had the opportunity to see that. A small smile returns to her face when he nudges her cheek.

“Ahh, there’s that baby face I remember!”

“Knock it off,” she huffs, shooing his hand away before grabbing her drink once again. “Speaking of worrying about you, how’s your mother been?”

“Same as always! Happy, relieved, still the best mom on the planet. Now I know I’m the star of this table but enough about me. How many times have I told you to call her mom too?” he jabs finger at her shoulder. Again, she shrugs him off before grumbling under her breath. With that dashing smirk of his, Elliott continues messing with his food. Perhaps a subject change was in order?

“So, tell me, who’s the lucky devil that’s got the best agent in the whole wide universe?”

 _Oh_ , she really didn’t want to talk about that right _now_. Work was always such an awkward subject. Occasionally a normal person—like a farmer or medical practitioner—would ask her, _what do you do for a living?_ Responding with, _I’m a personal contestant agent for the Apex games,_ doesn’t always get the casual response. Sometimes people wanted juicy details. Others would beg for an opportunity to meet certain Legends. Then there were the occasional rude ones who were completely against the games all together. She’d rather the peace activists over the crazy fans any day. Elliott was getting impatient, though, and she wasn’t sure how long thinking to herself could work as a stall from the inevitable. Either way, he was going to figure it out. Whether it be online, in news bulletins, or waiting out until one of the many promotional events. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Crowley takes a sit of the sweet drink before saying the name plainly.

“Caustic.”

Because it didn’t really have to be that big of a deal, right? The chances of the two being ringed together were slim. The directors didn’t want one of their top dogs being pinned against each other just to potentially lose a big money maker or two. This was all reminding her of when it was Elliott’s first game. Crowley sat anxiously beside his mother, watching his every move until finally he made it on top. All thanks to their handy little holo devices. From the look in his eyes though—all reared up with worry—she knew how seriously he was going to take this. One thing Elliott took fervently was family. He worked hard to stay alive, because he’d be damned leaving his mother alone after all she did for him. But his mother wasn’t the only lady he cared about. Crowley was like a sister to him. Though she wasn’t looking for his approval, she was expecting him to act like she was. With a wrinkled nose he shakes his head disgustingly.

“Gladys, _noooo_.”

“It’s not like I chose him.”

“ _Puh-leaze_ , tell me you didn’t take the job.”

Two nights ago, that meeting with Caustic was rougher than watching Bangalore topple down that steep mountain side last week. Something about it all was compelling enough to have her shaking his hand right before she had left in a new partnership. And just as much as there was that air of success—because, yes, she was the only agent who could reach his difficult standards—there was also regret.

“Gladys you didn’t.”

“Why are you acting so troubled? It’s a professional partnership. I’m only helping fund his campaign so he can get more money for whatever it is he’s doing,” she responds defensively. Almost on the verge of pulling out his hair, Elliott had to glue his hands to the table. “Probably some crazy mad doctor stuff, have you thought of that? I’ve only met him once, and I gotta say I felt like a hot shower and a two-hundred-mile radius couldn’t get rid of that chill he gave me. How’d he even get you to say yes?”

“That’s not how it works for _Legends_ , Elliott. I have to get _them_ to say yes, remember?” she grumbles. The cup was placed down as she finished her drink. Rubbing her chin, she recalls the night in her head vividly. “He wasn’t so bad. Very surreptitious… I guess you could call it.”

Elliott’s tongue fumbles, “ _Surre_ … _surri_ … is that even a word? Look, Glads, for the love of everything that’s good, seriously reconsider. You don’t need this job. Let me take care of you.”

“Elliott _no_.”

“Elliott _yes!_ Gladys, please, I’m beggin’ you here. Let me take care of you.”

He really would, too. She only knew because he’d been offering the help for a while now. Elliott was a nurturing sort of man. It was interesting how he could bring himself to kill, but the longer she knew him the more she recognized that it was all to care for his mother. That, and if any of his brothers were still around, they’d surely notice him on the big screen. It was by chance how they originally met. A homeless girl begging outside of bars came across a female engineer who was carrying a bag of scrap metal back to her home.

Maybe Elliott still saw her that way. As a small dirty child with cuts and bruises and eyes weighed down with dread. Young Gladys wasn’t much different than how she was now. Serious, hardworking, intelligent. The streets made her quick on her feet, at least, and she usually knew dangerous when she smelt it. Stepping into Caustic’s small laboratory brought her back to all those illegal drug shacks she’d end up sneaking into by accident. How scary it was seeing a real working gun for the first time, holstered tightly against a tattooed guy’s lanky hip. The mysterious scientist was far more skilled than a Solace druggie though. Even though he wheezed when he spoke and had the occasional cough, he was still a force to be reckoned with. Like a vicious, unpredictable tornado, but calculating every movement with incredible precision. It was no wonder why Elliott was worried for her. He’d seen him—met him personally. Said the whole time they spoke he only glared. Apparently, his look stung almost as bad as his toxin, which he had _accidentally_ let _slip_ once during a gear inspection. The woman was both street and book smart—a rare combination—and it was why Elliott rarely every worried about her.

Retrieving a small device, she notices a message had arrived while she was on her way home. It was from her supervisor. _“Job well done on your successful partnership, Miss Crowley! We hope to see more positive work from your end.”_ Gladys huffs, her brows arching low. Of course, they’d be happy. No doubt she had gotten the company more money. Rubbing the tip of her nose, she notices how cold it was. Soon she’ll be home, however, and she’ll be able to take a nice hot shower. But a buzzing in her ear made her blood run colder than the air outside. That could only be her director.

_“Miss Crowley?”_

“As always,” she answers with the usual.

_“Ahh, good. Listen, as you know next game is in two hours. I made sure to pull some strings and have your client listed in last moment. He politely accepted. Take this opportunity to observe him, as it is fundamental for your partnership.”_

Really, now? She was so excited to go home and relaxed, too. Given she’s an important person in her workspace, she wasn’t afraid in exposing her displeasure with the sudden intrusion. Limbs heavy, she takes a sharp turn away and takes a transport to the preparation area. Located in a large, closed off facility, she was required to show her badge before entering. The airship was being fueled at the beginning of the strip while countless workers, security, and fighters crowded the area busily. Crowley’s hands were stuffed in her pockets, her long black coat fluttering as the plane undergoes a turbine test. Wincing from the strong breeze, she could make out patches of yellow within one of the hangars. People were avoiding that area, and she didn’t need to make a wild guess as to why. Sure enough, as she approaches, she sees none other than Caustic fiddling with his gear. Each touch was careful and firm. To drop one of his grenades would have been devastating for all who were around, including her. Yet, he didn’t seem to notice her. That, or he was too busy to care. With his mask and respirator on there was a far more menacing look to him. Broad shoulders carried pounds of weight strapped around his chest. The clunk of his heavy boots almost made the ground shake as he slips a gas canister upon his back. One, two, three clicks of the heavy buckles locked it onto place. A small screw was being turned by his chest, the sound of the oxygen tank on his hip whistling until it was finally sealed, closing his lungs away from the outside air. Last were the gloves. Black latex squeaked, and the sound tickled her ears.

“Like a sheep among wolves,” he spoke calmly. Curiously she tilts her head at him. Caustic turns, his eyes fixated on her from behind his yellow goggles.

“That is what you are, Miss Crowley, when amongst the crowd of fighters.”

Whether it was a complement or an insult she didn’t know. Crowley had faced worse, however, so she settled for not caring. As Caustic closed the distance between them, she could see how much larger he appears with all that armor on. In the distance the voice of the announcer spoke—ten minutes in counting until the boarding begins. Not a hair on him was nervous, not like some of the other legends there. She pitied them before turning her full attention towards him.

“I hope you don’t mind me shadowing your performance tonight,” she said.

“Not in the slightest. In actuality I was anticipating it.”

At this point he hadn’t even blinked. Like an owl staring at a rodent, there was a very intentional and intense look to his eyes that made her skin form goosebumps. Again, she felt pity for those who aimless got ready to fight. Some had knives, others had fire canisters. But this man—he had a life of experience plus some more. He was insane.

“Do care to take notes. I will try to do well in proving to you what I am truly capable of,” he said before stomping passed her. With that, Caustic was eagerly approaching the dropship. Once the fighters left, Crowley enters the observation deck where she watched the battle take place safely. Many cameras were placed in every angle. Ground, buildings, and above the battlefield high up in the sky. Many others were talking amongst themselves as she watched her client silently with a tablet in hand. The gunfire never ceases when in that room. Once one fight ends, another completely across the island would begin, and not a bit of the action was hidden from these managers. Bodies fell, lives were lost, and the room would get just a little bit emptier as the ring got smaller.

“Idiot couldn’t keep up with the ring. Here I thought I actually found someone with potential.”

“A high-power energy field that’s continuously being produced by a generator beneath the ground. It creates heat as a byproduct, which is concentrated further outside the center of it’s random choosing. It’s no doubt so many people die without this knowledge,” a voice said somewhere in the room. Crowley knew all of this—most people working the management portion of the Apex games did. It was all lucrative.

Caustic was performing… well. To say the least. The man found himself a peacekeeper halfway through, and he’s been sticking to it ever since. Fortify, protect, and carry on seemed to be his tactic. He was the type of man to slip in unnoticed before taking the fight close and personal. A smart yet violent touch always seemed to go noticed. The room was watching him now, simply because they had low hopes for their own clients winning. Cutthroat moments like theses she best ignored. Especially with all the staring. When word got out that she—once again—had a very strong component in the Apex games under her wing, it was like a whole other arena she had to deal with. Except there weren’t any guns, only gossip and harsh words. _Not my fault that some of these people more than likely couldn’t step in the same room with him,_ she thought. Cowardice was a common attribute found in an agent. One would think that they were far stronger willed and tough. They weren’t. No agent was tough like the mighty Gibraltar, whose life he’d throw for those he loved. Nor were they fearless like the strange, nameless Wraith. Caustic was well ahead of his team. Though he seemed he was abandoning them, Crowley realized that he was clearing the way. Making it safe while leave behind large balloon-like contraptions. Gas traps that were trigged by the slightest touch or movement. The base and top had some sort of green plate. Sensors were the first possibility that popped in her mind.

Being led by a champion must have felt like an honor to them. Suddenly, a flash of light along the angled roof sparks, following by a loud skid. A stray shot from something powerful. _Longbow?_ The small team acts so fast that it was almost hard to comprehend. They were in a building just outside of the Southern Settlement. There was some advantage there. As Caustic glances behind his shoulder, the end of the hall was filling with yellow smoke. Trigger traps meant that they were closing in.

 _Will he die?_ Crowley thought. That was no good. Not that it was her fault. This was just an observation sequence for her. She needn’t worry about his life right now. Still, thinking in such a way made her feel bad. For her own sake, she found herself silently rooting for him.

“What will you do, Mr. Caustic?” she mutters, attracting the attention of one of her fellow agents.

“Gladys, if your precious Mirage was there then I’m sure he’d get himself out without a scratch. That panic you’re feeling must be new to you. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” someone says mockingly. The screen was engulfed in yellow for everyone, and it draws her opponents into silence.

“Dammit, I can’t see a thing!” the same man grumbles.

“Neither can I, try a different angle?”

Crowley looks up at the island through the large glass window. There in the distance was a noticeable cloud of yellow that engulfed a good portion of the settlement. Through the intercoms they could hear gunfire and yelling. Deafening calls from one team to another echoed, stacking upon each other into nontangible noise. Louder, louder, and then a broken silence cut through it all. Back in the tablet, Crowley changes the interface until she was on the camera select screen. She flicks from one to the next until she finally sees movement. It was Caustic, his arms dragging his limping teammates out of the toxic cloud. Just as he releases them, they fall to their knees to cough until their lips turned blue.

 _“When I said breath it in, I didn’t mean you miscreants,”_ he said. Eyes teared up from the burning as they glance up at him.

_“You almost… killed us!”_

With a P2020 in hand, he stares at its sides before looking down at his teammates. Just then, they were announced the victors. _“Your shields are drained. This should suffice.”_ Crowley gasps as he pulls the trigger, bullets burying into the base of their skulls. One, then two. Their bodies slump down loud like wet sacks. Warm corpses stack lifeless on the ground before his feet as he drops the pistol beside them. Then he looks up—he knew that camera had been there all along. And those eyes of his were burning her, because it felt like he was looking _right at her._ As if asking, _are you impressed with my work? Did I prove myself well to you, Miss Crowley?_

Because that was why he did this all. Why he won, and teamed up when he usually never did, and put up a show. To show her that he truly meant business.

The breath she takes in is shaky. When the transmission was cut, and the games had ended, she places the tablet down and finds herself thinking. The scoreboards posted in the observation deck showed his numbers dropping, dropping, dropping, before skyrocketing because, _damn_ , his morals were so cruel, but his vigor was addictive for the public that they just couldn’t help but want _more_ of it. The other agents weren’t too happy. That game costed them their latest clients, but there weren’t any rules saying he wasn’t allowed to kill them. Players had a right to team up, but that didn’t mean they had to stick together, per say. So, according to the unofficial rule book, what he did was totally allowed.

There was no rule book to begin with. If they only did violent things on the island, then everything was fine. The cold air outside wasn’t enough to calm her racing mind. When the plane landed, the only person who exited was Caustic. She’d expected him to wait for her, but upon her arrival all whom were there were workers cleaning up the strip. Regardless of how exhausted she was she still decided to search for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the slow-burn character build before a mystery romance unfolds :')


End file.
